


Evidence of Giants

by dogpoet



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The X-Files
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Giants, Road Trips, Silly, Trees, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-04 22:30:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogpoet/pseuds/dogpoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder drags Scully to England to investigate a bunch of uprooted trees. Scully is not pleased.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Evidence of Giants

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jenwryn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenwryn/gifts).



> Beta by [from](http://archiveofourown.org/users/from/pseuds/from).

“Mulder, what are we doing here?” Scully looked out the window of the car as Mulder drove them through a landscape that looked like something right out of a book Scully had read as a child. Something about English schoolchildren and ponies. Except, this being Scully’s life under discussion, the quaint streets and lush, green hillsides were marred by uprooted trees, broken street lamps, and houses with their roofs torn off.

Mulder showed Scully his incredulous face. “Look around you, Scully. Are you telling me this doesn’t seem weird to you?”

“It was a hurricane,” Scully protested. “Hurricanes do happen.”

“We’re not in Kansas, anymore, we’re in England.”

“That was a tornado.” Scully felt the light skip her heart always performed when she corrected Mulder.

“You say tomato, I say tomahto. The point is, isn’t a hurricane in a picture postcard village in Devon worth investigating?”

They passed an enormous tree that had been ripped right out of the ground. It was nowhere near the pit in the earth where it had once stood. Perhaps Mulder had a point, but Scully wasn’t ready to concede. “It’s normally windy here,” she countered.

Mulder slammed on the brakes and awkwardly parked, unused to being on the right side of the car. That was Scully’s side. She could have parked the car like a pro, but Mulder would have sulked for the rest of the day. Scully kept her mouth shut as Mulder rolled over the curb and then bumped the car behind them. He also couldn’t drive stick for shit.

*

Standing at the edge of the pit in the ground, Scully took in the jagged soil surface and the torn root tips left hanging from it. The pit measured at least ten feet across, and it was deep enough for burying Mulder vertically. Scully was tempted, but the better angels of her nature won out. She’d gotten used to Mulder ruining her vacations. _Let’s go to England_ , he’d said. _We can see the sights, and you can pretend you’re in a Jane Austen novel!_

Scully had pointed out that she didn’t want to live in a Jane Austen novel.

Mulder said: “Check it out.”

Scully crouched to examine a depression in the ground where the grass had been pressed flat, several inches lower than the area surrounding it. The outline of it had formed tiny cliffs. “A small sinkhole caused by the tree being uprooted,” she said.

“Don’t those look like toes to you?” Mulder gazed at her hopefully. “Hang on,” he added before running across the street to get his camera and a tape measure out of the trunk of the car. When he returned, he knelt to measure the depression. “Three feet, Scully. If this is a footprint, that means whatever made it could be twenty feet tall!” 

“Or it could just have really big feet. Mulder, I came to England to visit museums and have glasses of wine at quaint pubs on the river. History. Architecture. Monuments.”

“Bigfoot doesn’t live in England.” Mulder said, snapping some photos. “Look. Here’s another one! Hold this.”

To shut him up, Scully held the end of the tape measure while Mulder measured the distance between depressions. Mulder was like a kid when he found things like this. A really big kid who watched porn and slept on the couch all night.

“I think what we’re seeing here is evidence of giants.”

“Giants.” Scully hoped her face communicated what she thought of the idea. 

“They’re in the local lore. Multiple sources. Tales like that don’t just come from nowhere.”

“You’re right. They come from ancient superstition. Fear of the unknown. Extreme weather led to all kinds of explanations. Myths about the wrath of the Gods.” Scully let go of the tape, and it zapped Mulder’s hand as it sped back into its case.

“Footprints. Giant footprints,” Mulder protested.

“Two depressions in the ground.”

“The only reason there aren’t more is because the stride was so big, and there’s asphalt. I bet if we go to some of the farms…”

Scully sighed and watched Mulder run toward the uprooted tree, which nearly blocked the road beside the small park where the pit was.

“Whooo!” Mulder shouted in exultation when he reached the tree. He took more pictures.

Scully took a deep breath and steeled herself for what was to come, reluctantly approaching the tree. Mulder looked at Scully triumphantly. Scully crossed her arms over her chest. She refused to look at the tree.

“Huh? Huh?” Mulder waited for her to agree. “Come on, Scully, what are you afraid of? Just look at the tree.”

“Fine. I’ll look at the tree. And then can we drive back to somewhere with a wine bar?”

“Planning on getting me drunk?”

Scully rolled her eyes. “What am I looking at?”

Mulder held up his hand, fingers spread, demonstrating. He laid his fingertips against his neck. “You know and I know: during strangulation, the strangler often leaves fingerprints, revealing the size of his hand.”

“Or her hand.”

“Statistically —”

“Yeah, okay,” Scully interrupted, gesturing. 

Mulder pointedly laid his hand on the tree, whose bark was crushed and broken. But before he could deliver his closing arguments, a booming voice made them both turn in surprise.

“Excuse me. What are you doing there?” The voice came from a very tall man draped in yards and yards of dark fabric.

“Uh…” Mulder said. 

Scully tried not to laugh.

“Kingsley Shacklebolt. I work with the Ministry. I request that you please leave that tree alone.”

Ah, a minister. That made sense. His vestments weren’t like any Scully had ever seen, but maybe English churches were different.

“We were just leaving,” Scully said, even though years of working with Mulder had led her to be suspicious of people who didn’t want them to look at things. 

“The Ministry?” Mulder said, being obnoxious as usual. 

Mr. Shacklebolt was reaching into his sleeve for something, and for an insane instant, Scully thought he was pulling out a gun. Her hand went automatically for hers, but of course it wasn’t there. They were in England. Scully let out a breath of relief when Mr. Shacklebolt extricated nothing more threatening than a stick.

“Obliviate!” Mr. Shacklebolt said in his authoritative voice, waving the stick.

*

The river was peaceful. Very idyllic. Scully sipped her wine. She realized she didn’t recall ordering it. Nor did she remember coming to the pub, but Mulder was sitting across from her, looking a little befuddled and boyish. He drank his beer.

“This is good beer,” he observed.

“Told you,” Scully said.

“Scully…” Mulder gave his beer serious consideration. 

“What?”

Mulder shook his head. “I don’t know. I feel like we got nothing done today. Tomorrow, we’re going to Stonehenge.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“What’s wrong with ‘okay’?”

“Nothing.” Mulder squinted at her. “I can’t believe you agreed to go on vacation with me.” 

Scully couldn’t believe it either, but this wasn’t a bad way to spend an afternoon, and besides, if she didn’t go with Mulder on vacation, who would?


End file.
